


Picture of Domesticity

by SmolGooDragon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor is Asexual, Connor really likes dogs (and cats too), Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hank deserves happiness too, Hank swears a lot I apologize, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Hank, Post-Canon, Post-good ending, honestly just needed some papa Hank and his weird son, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolGooDragon/pseuds/SmolGooDragon
Summary: After Connor becomes a deviant and fulfills his final mission, Hank decides to let the android stay with him. This is a series of interconnected fragments of their new life together, as Connor learns to truly become human and Hank relearns the meaning of family.





	1. Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this (admittedly self-indulgent) story! I've been obsessed with Detroit: Become Human as of late, so... I suppose this is my entrance into the fandom. And of course I have to get my parental-relationship-loving hands all over the fandom.  
> Feel free to shoot a request or two my way, since this is going to be more of a loosely-connected series of oneshots, aside from the occasional pivotal plot point.  
> I hope you enjoy!

Hank squints bleary-eyed at the ceiling. Various noises are coming from the kitchen-- Sumo’s claws clacking on the old tile floor, soft footsteps, sizzling and crackling… not to mention the heavenly, yet unfamiliar, scent wafting to Hank’s nose. For an absurd, brief moment, Hank wonders if someone had broken into his house merely to borrow his kitchen.

After a solid minute of dazed pondering, however, it all comes rushing back to him: meeting up with Connor after the surreal events of the uprising, pulling the android into his arms. Connor holding the hug for a bit longer than standard etiquette permitted, but Hank hadn’t cared much. Kid had likely never been hugged once in his “life”; may as well let him experience something new.

It had just felt nice, knowing that his plastic asshole was finally capable of reciprocating such an emotional gesture.

And…

Ah, yes. Connor had sheepishly asked Hank if he could crash at his place until he found a suitable living space of his own.

Hank groans, his back popping and cracking loudly as he sits up.

Well, may as well see what the newly-deviant android was up to in his kitchen. Hopefully not feeding Sumo any bacon, because Hank sure as hell never wanted to clean up  _ that _ kind of mess ever again.

Hank shuffles from his room and out into the hallway, squinting accusingly at an antique clock on the wall.

 

_ Ugh, six in the morning? What the actual fuck, Connor. _

 

His sour thoughts suddenly slam to a halt as he enters the kitchen. Sure enough, Connor is cooking away like nobody’s business, completely unfazed by the ungodly time of day.

The android’s head turns and he shoots Hank a small wave. “Good morning, lieutenant.”

Sumo, perched at Connor’s feet, begins to thump his club of a tail against the ground in greeting.

Hank raises an eyebrow, taking in the entire scene.

“...You can cook? What, you some kind of AX400 model now?”

Connor blinks. “Oh, no. I don’t have anything close to an AX400’s recipe database.” He glances at the frying pans on the stove with something akin to embarrassment on his face. “I downloaded a few basic recipes last night, while you were sleeping. I figured it was the least I could do to repay you for letting me stay here.”

His expression suddenly sours, and he narrows his eyes at Hank. “That, and I will not permit you to further damage your blood pressure and cholesterol levels. I would much prefer having a  _ living _ partner, thank you very much.”

Hank lets out a disbelieving snort. “Since when did you get so damned snarky?”

“After spending time with you, lieutenant.”

“Touch é .”

Hank all but collapses into the dining room chair. “Ugh, and why did you have to get up so damn early?”

“Because you are scheduled to work at seven AM,” Connor explains patiently. “I figured I would make you breakfast at six AM, give you time to shower at approximately six-twenty to six-thirty, and leave the house at six-forty-five in order to reach the precinct at six-fifty-five.”

Hank opens his mouth to protest, but he’s cut off as Connor swiftly places a steaming mug of coffee on the table before him.

The two make pointed eye contact, a silent test of wills. Finally, Hank grumbles under his breath and relents, favoring the piping-hot caffeine over picking an argument with a stubborn android. As soon as he takes a sip, his shoulders slump. “...Damn, that’s a nice cup of coffee.”

Connor briefly smirks at that. “I did my best to replicate your usual coffee order from the local GalaxyDollars. Of course, I used nonfat milk as it is easier on the digestive system, and--”

Hank sharply turns his head to narrow his eyes at Connor. “You had better not have stuck your damn fingers in my coffee and ‘analyzed’ it.”

Connor merely shrugs. Then he finally scoops up a plate filled with hashbrowns, eggs, and bacon before depositing it in front of Hank-- another peace offering.

“Connor, for fuck’s sake…” Hank grumbles, but yet again, he can’t resist the offering. He picks up a fork before hesitantly scooping up some of the food and shoving it into his mouth.

 

_ Oh. My fucking god. That. Is. Good. _

 

“I trust that breakfast is to your satisfaction?” Connor prods, folding his arms behind his back.

Hank raises his brows before looking up at Connor. “...Yeah, it’s fantastic.”

Connor finally relaxes-- Hank hadn’t even realized that the robot had been slightly tense in the first place-- and shoots Hank a tiny smile. “Good, I’m glad that it turned out well for my first time cooking.”

Unsure of how to respond, Hank continues to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that Connor is walking back to take care of the dirty dishes in the sink… Jesus, he never thought he’d have an android taking care of him like this.

...It makes him feel bad. Connor is a deviant now, not some kind of servant. Connor is Hank’s  _ partner _ , not just a machine. Not anymore.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank pipes up. “Don’t worry about the dishes, alright? I can take care of those after breakfast.”

Connor turns his head to meet Hank’s gaze, looking rather bewildered. “I have no need to shower or get dressed, lieutenant. It would be far more efficient if I--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Strict schedule and all that.” Hank huffs, shoving another forkload of food into his mouth. “Let me handle it, alright? You just… go relax on the couch or something. Make yourself at home, kid. You already made me breakfast.”

Connor goes silent, tilting his head like a confused puppy. And then he slowly steps away from the kitchen, shooting one last glance at the dishes in the sink.

Before he can exit into the living room, Hank reaches over and pats the android on the arm. “You’re not some kind of servant anymore, Connor. You’re a deviant now-- human. You can do what you want, y’know.”

Connor blinks. And then he hesitantly stretches his own arm out, patting Hank’s shoulder.

“...Thank you, lieutenant.”

The man snorts. “And you don’t have to be so formal all the time, Connor. You can just call me Hank, alright? Drop the stupid titles.”

Connor’s eyes widen ever so slightly, his LED flickering yellow in contemplation.

And then the corner of his lips tilts upwards, an unfamiliar, tiny smile settling on his face. “Very well. Thank you, Hank.”

And with that, Connor turns and leaves the kitchen, Sumo trotting along at the android’s heels.

Hank eyes the two for a while before shaking his head and returning to eating breakfast.

 

It was gonna be one hell of an adjustment, living with someone like Connor. And yet… Hank, for once, doesn’t find himself dreading the experience.

No… perhaps the extra challenge of having a deviant in his home would prove to be a good thing.


	2. Independence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes Connor to his first fireworks show.

Hank tosses an old quilt onto the grass, eyeing the surrounding area with a hint of pride. “Found a damn good spot and everything,” he chuckles. “Haven’t been here in years, but I still know where all the best places to set up are.”

Connor blinks, his arms folded professionally behind his back. The android looks disoriented without his suit and tie-- Hank had coerced him into wearing an old DPD hoodie, faded jeans, and a beanie to cover his LED, but it was still difficult to override his natural tendency towards being so formal all the time. 

Hank plops down on the quilt, shooting Connor a smirk before patting the spot beside himself. “C’mon, Connor, get the stick out of your ass and sit down. The show’s gonna start soon.”

The android settles down next to Hank, his brows furrowing. “I don’t have a ‘stick up my ass’, lieu--”

Hank narrows his eyes.

Connor pauses before clearing his throat. “Hank. I don’t have a stick up my ass, Hank. That would be absurd.”

The man snorts, elbowing Connor in the side. “It means you need to loosen up a little, kid. We’re not on-duty or anything; you can relax. Don’t need to be so formal all the time.”

Connor opens his mouth in protest, but his words are suddenly overshadowed by the crackling and bursting of gunpowder. 

The two turn their heads to look at the sky, just in time to witness flashes of red and blue streaking through the night air. They go silent as the fireworks show goes on, Hank occasionally nudging Connor after some of the most brilliant displays.

About five minutes into the show, Hank turns his head to look directly at Connor, still keeping the show in his peripheral vision. 

“So? What do you think?”

Connor blinks before turning slightly to face Hank. “...It’s impressive, especially the blue fireworks. Conditions have to be just right to make the copper oxidizers react--”

“No, Connor.” Hank enunciates, stressing every syllable. “What do you  _ think _ . How does it make you feel?”

Connor tilts his head, his LED suddenly flickering yellow beneath the beanie. He pores over the latest memory data he has received-- the fireworks, the bursts of color, Hank’s nudging. His gaze returns to the fireworks still going off at the present moment, takes in the surges of color splattering across the grassy field like luminescent paint.

“Warm,” Connor blurts out. And then he frowns, the yellow of his LED spinning all the more rapidly. “...There’s… a warm feeling, in my chest.”

Hank raises an eyebrow before chuckling. “Is that so?”

Connor nods. And then he glances down at the quilt, idly brushing his fingers against the worn fabric. “It’s strong, but… not like overheating. It is not unpleasant… I. I actually… enjoy it, even though I don’t quite understand it.”

His thought process is interrupted by Hank clapping him on the shoulder.

“That’s a good start, Connor. Don’t think about it too hard-- now, keep an eye out. They’re gonna be starting the finale any minute now.”

The android hesitates before looking back up at the sky. As the crackling of colored lightning launches through the air, sizzling reds and sparkling silvers dominating the canvas of the night sky, Connor notes that the feeling in his chest doesn’t go away.

No, the warmth seems to  _ spread _ .

He glances over at Hank, notes the man’s faint smile, the lights reflecting off his eyes.

 

Connor can feel the tug of a tiny smile growing on his own face-- an unfamiliar feeling, still, but it feels far more natural than it used to. His shoulders gradually slouch, his rigid posture softening. And then he finally scoots a bit closer to Hank, brushing their shoulders together in a feather-light touch.

 

Hank had been right, earlier this afternoon.

This was… fun. It was nice. It made Connor feel warm and whole, and for once, he doesn’t feel the nagging urge to be doing something  _ productive. _

 

No, he feels… content.

Like this is exactly where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a wonderful 4th of July! I didn't get to see any fireworks this year because I was at work, but I wrote this on my break so Connor and Hank could watch the fireworks show in my stead.   
> Feel free to leave kudos and/or a comment if you like what you see! I'm blown away by all the support I've received so far, despite this fic being less than 24 hours old. Let's keep this hype train going!


	3. Kindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as things have changed, a lot of things stay the same.

Connor rests his arms on the shopping cart in front of him, idly running his gaze along a wall of produce.

Hank is at work, but it’s all paperwork and reports today-- and despite the many freedoms granted in the android uprising, the police department still remained hard-set in its ways, not allowing androids to write their own incident reports and the like. Hank had called it ‘bullshit’ and Connor was inclined to agree-- he could write his own reports just fine, thank you-- but he would never admit such things aloud in the precinct. Best to avoid stepping on any toes, aka avoid pissing off Gavin Reed, his lackeys, or Captain Fowler.

Connor blinks before picking up a head of lettuce, grimacing ever so slightly at the price. He’s been trying to find healthier foods to augment Hank’s diet, but the skyrocketing price of produce certainly hasn’t been helping.

_...Potential solution… Start a garden in Hank’s yard? I would need to analyze the soil for fertility, but I’m certain we could reduce some of the cost that way, while also providing Hank with proper nutrition. _

Connor starts adding seeds to his mental grocery shopping list, already pondering the kinds of vegetables and fruits that could grow well in the area, given soil pH and climatic factors. He then places the lettuce in the cart, along with a few bunches of green onions.

Next on the list--

 

…

Oh.

_ Oh no. _

Connor’s LED indecisively flickers between yellow and red, a sense of unease rising in his chest. Before he can get the chance to react, an unfortunately-familiar voice pipes up from behind him, snide tone loaded with venom.

 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the plastic dipshit himself.”

For another instant, Connor’s LED stays red-- then it slowly drops down to a guarded yellow. Connor doesn’t say a word.

He can feel Gavin right behind him, the man’s shadow an unpleasant weight on his shoulders.

“What, are you stupid  _ and _ deaf? Answer me, fuckface.”

Connor winces as Gavin smacks him right between the shoulderblades, very nearly knocking the android into the produce wall. His LED flashes red once more.

He turns around, eyeing the detective warily.

“Greetings, Detective Reed,” Connor manages, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. The last thing he needed right now was to pick a fight with the hard-headed officer, especially not right now. Not in public, when tensions between androids and humans were still so high.

Gavin sneers up at Connor, acting for all the world like he isn’t a few inches shorter than the intimidatingly-tall android.

“Whaaat, no snarky comment about only being authorized to answer to Hank? Or do you like to think you’re some kinda  _ person _ now?”

Connor pauses to collect himself, sighing through his nose before answering. “I can answer to anyone I please, Gavin. And I know that I am not a human being, but I  _ am _ a deviant android… and I assure you, I am very capable of thinking and feeling things for myself.”

The detective’s lip curls in disgust. “Still snooty as ever, you filthy piece of plastic. And that’s  _ Detective Reed _ to you, got it?” Gavin harshly taps a finger against Connor’s chest, coming closer into the android’s personal space. “Dumbass robots, thinking they’re some kinda  _ equals _ to humans, when we’re the ones that made your plastic asses in the first place. Don’t you  _ ever _ forget that… or I swear to god, the second Hank isn’t shielding your stupid hide, I’m gonna beat you into a pile of scrap metal.”

 

Connor feels something… off. A pounding against his synthetic skull, a rise in his internal temperature.

His jaw twitches slightly, his teeth clenching.

“Got it,” is all he grits out, his voice a touch deeper and more strained. 

“Good.” Gavin gives Connor one last smug leer and a light shove before turning around and leaving to go back to his business.

 

_...Not fair. _

_ It’s. Not. Fair. _

 

Connor twitches, his LED still flashing a vibrant red. An unfamiliar feeling is rising in his chest, and it’s making his thirium pump’s pace quicken, makes his entire body feel  _ tight _ . It’s a frustrating itch at the back of his mind that he’s never felt before, and he quickly decides that he doesn’t like it one bit.

 

_ Software Instability: ^^^ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, only three chapters in and I've already plotted out a mini story arc. Oops? I'll try to get a little more consistent with updates, because frankly I just need more domestic Connor in my life. And I'm totally not plotting whump for later, what're you talking about?


	4. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor needs a hobby.

_ 10:43 AM. Weather: partially cloudy. Scanning for instability. Software instability detected. _

_ Flip. _

_ Clink. _

_ 10:53 AM. Weather: partially cloudy. Chance of snow increase to 40% in the afternoon. Scanning for instability. Software instability detected. _

_ Flip. _

_ Clink. _

_ Flip-- _

“Connor? Jesus, did you just sit there all night?”

The android blinks, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at a disheveled Hank. He slides his coin back into his pocket before getting to his feet.

“Yes, I did,” Connor confirms, folding his arms behind his back as he straightens into a more professional stance. After a brief moment of looking Hank over, scanning the man’s bleary eyes and rumpled night-clothes, Connor’s brows furrow, his LED flickering yellow. “...Should I not have?”

Hank frowns, squinting at the android for a few minutes. Then he huffs and shakes his head, shambling towards the kitchen. “...I forget that you don’t need to sleep sometimes. Doesn’t it get boring, just sitting there?”

Connor opens his mouth to reply, about to say no, that he doesn’t get bored, but. Well. He’d resorted to repeated environmental scans when it really hadn’t been necessary, just to keep his systems working on  _ something _ that could even be considered remotely productive.

 

He’d never really had to do that before. He’d always been fine sitting in a CyberLife warehouse for hours on end, doing absolutely nothing… but now he doubts he could ever pull that off again without wearing his operating systems ragged trying to process every minute detail of his environment as a distraction.

 

_...So this is what boredom feels like? _

“I suppose.” Connor pauses before shrugging, the gesture a bit clumsy. He’s still not used to that one. 

Hank snorts as he pulls a box of cereal from the cupboard, along with an old, chipped-up bowl. “You really need to find a hobby or something, kid. It would drive me bonkers, sitting around all night without doing a single damn thing.”

 

_ Hobby, noun. An activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure. _

_ Pleasure, noun. A feeling of happy satisfaction and enjoyment. Synonyms: happiness, contentment, gratification. _

Connor’s brows knit together, his LED spinning a solid ring of yellow in contemplation. Doing something on a regular basis that makes him… happy? Content? What makes him content?

He feels good when he’s around Hank and Sumo, does that count? And accomplishing homicide investigations feels good, too, but… what else?

After a few minutes-- his silence must have seemed a bit concerning to his human partner-- Hank clears his throat. “What did you usually do when you weren’t with me, working on the case?”

“I spent most of that time recharging in a CyberLife warehouse,” Connor responds. “I often required repairs after our many…  _ incidents _ over the course of the investigation…”

He can’t help the wry smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. “The technicians at the facilities were often rather confused at how many repairs I needed on a regular basis.” He snorts quietly before eyeing Hank and blinking. “The rest of the time was spent reporting to CyberLife, doing repeated self-examinations, and reviewing the evidence of the investigation.”

“So, basically,” Hank mutters, resting his chin on his knuckle. “You spent the entire time doing the most boring shit on the face of the planet. No wonder you insisted on following me so damn much.”

Connor opens his mouth to object, but then his brows furrow and his LED pulses yellow. “...The  _ most  _ boring is rather subjective.” He settles for that-- he can’t exactly say, looking back, that his “free time” had been anything close to entertaining.

 

...Although, that one time the technician had triggered his knee joint reflex…

 

Hank hums distractedly, shooting the spoon in his hand a frustrated glare. “Alright, well. We have the day off anyways, may as well try to figure out if there’s anything you’d like to do in your free time.”

“Mm.” Connor pauses before eyeing Sumo and approaching the big dog, kneeling down in order to rest a hand on his back. “Well, Sumo makes me feel good,” he comments idly. 

 

There’s a long silence before Hank finally pipes up, his eyebrow quirking. “...I might have an idea.”

Connor blinks, keeping a hand on Sumo as he glances over at Hank. After a brief moment of Hank not  _ stating _ said idea, Connor raises his own eyebrow and cocks his head.

Hank snorts, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “It’sh a shurprise.” He pauses to gulp before smirking over at Connor. “You’ll see, but I think you’ll like it.”

\--

As Hank’s car pulls up to a small, rather unimpressive building, Connor blinks.

_ Mercy Humane Society, animal shelter located on 336 Alpine Street, southern Detroit. Hours: 12 PM to 6 PM. 4.75/5 stars on local social media. _

 

_ Objective: ??? _

_ Updating objective… _

 

Connor tilts his head, eyeing Hank curiously. “Can you tell me what the surprise is now?”

Hank pulls into the parking lot-- more of a dirt strip than anything, the lack of lane markers practically screaming ‘figure it out yourself’. Hank merely shoots Connor a smirk before turning the key and pulling it out of the ignition, shoving his way out the door as the engine’s rumbling dies down. 

Connor’s brows furrow, his LED spinning a yellow circle before returning to a neutral blue as he, too, gets out of the car and follows behind Hank. Whatever this ‘surprise’ is, Hank seems determined to keep his mouth shut until the very last second.

As the two enter the animal shelter, Connor blinks at the chiming jingle that plays as they enter-- a matter of seconds and he’s scanned the area, noting a cluster of tarnished bells attached to the door’s creaky hinge mechanism. The floor is scuffed with years of canine claw marks, the reception desk at least a decade old and tilted ever so slightly off-kilter.

 

_ Shelter is poorly funded/lacking in money? _

 

Connor eyes Hank curiously as the man marches up to the reception desk like he owns the place, catching the attention of the human secretary sitting behind the counter.

 

_ Martinez, Alexis. Born 05/21/1998. Criminal record: three speeding tickets in the past five years, briefly detained last year for breaking and entering a house in south Detroit before being acquitted via court hearing. _

 

“Hey, Alex,” Hank manages, his confident demeanor oddly toning down quite a bit. “Been a while, huh?”

The receptionist scoffs in disbelief, getting to her feet and making her way around the counter. “Hank, you ol’ sunovabitch, ‘a while’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

The two laugh as Alexis yanks Hank into a tight hug, Hank’s shoulders relaxing considerably. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I meant to visit more often.”

“Clearly it wasn’t often enough.”

Alexis gives Hank one last firm slap on the shoulder before eyeing Connor.

 

_ Stress level increase: 20%. _

 

Alexis’ gaze darts between Connor and Hank before she finally settles on giving Hank a skeptical, almost accusatory, look.

“... _ You _ , of all people, brought an  _ android  _ here.”

 

Connor awkwardly adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves at the woman’s reaction, suddenly feeling very… intrusive. 

Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.

He opens his mouth to give a voice to that thought, but Hank cuts him off.

 

“It’s a long story, ‘Lex, but he’s with me, and, well.” Hank raises an eyebrow at her, pulling the best coaxing face he has. “Long story short, I’m calling in that solid you’ve owed me for the past couple years. The kid needs something to do in his free time aside from staring at my walls. You’ve always complained about needing more helping hands around the place.”

Alexis scowls. “Hank, it’s a fucking  _ android _ , I can’t just—“

“Things have changed,” Hank asserts, crossing his arms and straightening up, his shoulders squaring rigidly. “It’s different now, since the uprising.  _ He _ is different— he’s my  _ friend _ , Alexis.”

Hank lets out a frustrated exhale from his nose. “All I’m asking is that you give him a chance. You’ll be surprised.”

The two exchange a challenging glare— daring the other to back down— before Alexis finally shakes her head, grumbles a few profanities under her breath, and walks back over behind the reception desk.

Connor blinks as she aggressively fishes around in an old, dusty drawer, soon finding her target and slapping the offending paper onto the surface of the desk.

 

_ Scanning… _

 

_ Scan 100% complete. Paper material: 60% cotton fiber, 40% Post Consumer Recycled Fiber… commonly known as “Resumé Paper”.  _

_ Font: Calibri, size 12. _

_ Purpose: Volunteer application form. _

 

Connor’s LED flickers yellow as he tentatively approaches the desk, putting the pieces together in a matter of moments.

 

_Objective: Apply to shelter as a volunteer?_ _Y/N?_

 

The choice, that’s a new feature of his self-appointed ‘directives’ these days. It feels…  _ thrilling _ , continuously being provided the opportunity to say no whenever he so desires. He’s almost tempted to say no to this objective, too— Alexis is making a point of showing that he’s not welcome here— but Hank… Hank had brought him here for a reason. Though he’s not entirely certain what good will come from the situation, Connor decides to proceed according to the man’s wishes. If Alexis continued to be difficult and give Connor problems, he could always just walk away and never return.

His LED flickers back to blue, the matter quickly decided, before he steps forward and picks up a pen on the desk. The questions are simple enough-- he has his own phone number (of sorts), writes down Hank’s address because he doesn’t forsee himself moving out anywhere in the near future, and--

Connor blinks before his brows furrow. He then turns his head to look over at Hank, a mildly concerned look on his face. “Lieu-- Hank?”

The man shifts from where he had been eyeing Connor and Alexis both before moving up to the desk, glancing over Connor’s shoulder at the application. “What?”

“...What should I put as my age?”

Hank brings a hand up to his mouth in an attempt to hide a snicker. “A few months, right? I mean…”

He quirks an eyebrow at Alexis. “Okay so I know the kid here is only a few months old, but he’s old enough to walk the dogs without a supervising adult, yeah?”

Alexis rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Just mark the ‘over eighteen’ box.”

Satisfied with that answer, Connor nods and resumes writing at an inhuman speed-- the application isn’t that long as is, but the android breezes through it like it’s  _ nothing _ . After another minute, Connor places the pen to the side and slides the paper towards Alexis.

She grudgingly takes it from him, shooting a glare at the perfectly-printed Cyberlife Sans font on the page, as well as the flawless, intricately-looping signature on the bottom line. She lets out another grumpy huff before opening a file drawer and setting the application inside-- then she opens another drawer, pulls out a sticker, hastily writes on it, and finally slaps the sticker on the front of Connor’s suit jacket.

Connor blinks and glances down, a curious look on his face as he scans the tacky sticker that proudly declares “My name is: Dipshit”.

He raises a brow at Alexis, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “My name isn’t ‘Dipshit’, it’s Con--”

The woman makes a shooing gesture, slumping back into her chair behind the desk. “I’ll have a permanent name tag made for you the next time you come in,” she grumbles. “Go do… something. I don’t care. Hank, you go with the android and make sure it doesn’t mess anything up.”

Connor shoots Hank a skeptical look as the man smirks at Alexis. “Thanks, ‘Lex.” Then he moves around her desk, making his way to the door leading into the rest of the shelter. 

Connor is close behind, though he still keeps a slightly wary eye on Alexis.

 

_ Hates androids, potential threat. _

_ Objective: ??? _

 

_...Earn her trust? Probability of success: 23%. _

_ Situation similar to relationship with Detective Reed. Proceed with caution. _

_ Utilize old friendship with Hank -- Demonstrate my efficiency and tireless working capacity-- ??? More information required before proceeding. _

 

All of his calculations suddenly slam to a halt as Hank guides him into the other room, his LED briefly flickering yellow in surprise.

All around them are large cages, filled with blankets, jingly toys, bowls of dry food, and-- most importantly--  _ cats _ . 

Connor must have stood there for an inordinate amount of time, his eyes widened, as Hank finally interrupts with a small chuckle. “You know, the cats need to be socialized while they’re waiting to be adopted. You can go ahead and hold one, if you’re feeling up to it. Any one you want.”

Connor glances at Hank before surveying the room once more, a tinge of excitement flaring up in his processors. 

_ Molly, calico, three years. Henry, tabby, one year. Alexander Ha-mewl-ton, solid black, five years… _

His gaze darts around the room indecisively before he finally spies an absolutely  _ gigantic _ Persian cat.

_ Annabelle, eight years old. Female, shaded silver coat.  _

_ Scanning for abnormalities…  _

_ Missing left-rear leg, scar tissue on back and ears. _

 

Connor approaches slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly. Annabelle’s green eyes attentively track his movements, despite for all the world looking like she couldn’t be bothered to deal with anything going on in her surroundings.

A clacking noise, the cage door creaks open as Connor unlocks it. The cat’s ear twitches-- she’s a little more interested now. 

He gently offers his hand as though asking a lady to dance. She sniffs, he braces, and--

 

The cat yawns before rubbing her head against Connor’s fingers.

The android’s lips quirk into a tiny smile as he scratches under the cat’s jawline and along her cheek. His gentle stroking finally elicits a rough, snorting purr from the cat, and Connor feels a… a sense of warmth, growing in his chest. It feels  _ good _ , like the positive feedback from completing a mission, like coming home and seeing Sumo’s tail flying in all directions out of sheer joy. 

Connor quickly decides that he  _ likes _ this strange emotion, where the biocomponents in his chest feel a little too warm, but not in a bad way.

 

Alexis, after sulking for a few minutes, glances over her shoulder and peers into the window leading to the other room… only for her eyes to widen in surprise.

Hank and his android are chatting-- normal enough, aside from the cat snuggled up in the android’s arms.

 

Jesus Christ, Annabelle HATES being held, but there she is, looking happy as can be with her oven mitts for paws draped over the android’s plastic arm. The damn robot even has a dopey  _ smile _ on its face as it shows the cat off to Hank.

Alexis shakes her head in disbelief, eventually going back to the stack of paperwork on her desk. 

 

What in the hell had Hank signed her up for?


	5. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns the hard way that the news is usually pretty depressing to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter does contain mentions of violence against androids, as well as comparing the android "recycling camps" to concentration camps. If you are highly sensitive to such matters, feel free to skip down to the line "A chill runs up his spine...". It shouldn't be that bad, but I never know how things can affect some people. ^^;;
> 
> Enjoy!

Hank gives a small, irritable smack of his lips as he shifts further under his sheets, trying to ignore a growing sense of discomfort that is threatening to completely wake him up at some ungodly hour of the night.

After another few minutes of tossing and turning, Hank groans and grumpily shoves the bedsheets away. Damn it, he’s parched-- he doubts he’ll be able to go back to sleep if he doesn’t get up and get a quick drink.

He stumbles out of bed as though utterly drunk, squinting as he navigates through his near-pitch-black room, shuffling across the hall to the bathroom. He licks his dry lips as he awkwardly stumbles in-- it takes some effort, but he manages to fill up a tiny, paper cup with tap water before greedily gulping it down.

After practically inhaling a few more cups of water, Hank cracks his back and yawns before going to shuffle back into his room… when he notices a soft, flickering light at the end of the hallway. He squints and frowns before hesitantly creeping forward towards the living room. From his vantage point, all he can see is the back of Connor’s head as the android-- the kid-- is perched on the couch, sitting rigidly still with the TV casting a glow around his silhouette.

 

Christ, it reminds Hank of watching  _ Poltergeist _ when he was younger. Didn’t fuckin’ sleep that entire night…

He uncomfortably walks over, peering over Connor’s head to glance at the TV.

“...getting an inside look at the aftermath of these ‘recycling camps’...”

Hank frowns, moving closer.

“...which android rights activists are likening to concentration camps from Nazi Germany almost a hundred years ago. The footage we are about to show may be graphic for some viewers, as it depicts severe violence against androids-- viewer discretion is advised.”

 

Hank’s breath hitches for a second at the sight of glistening, plastic body parts strewn through the snow, the crumpled forms of android bodies, smaller androids-- fucking  _ child models _ \-- strewn about in piles waiting to be collected by garbage trucks. Everything is so… still. So completely and utterly lifeless, and it would all be dead quiet and muffled by the snow if not for the wavering voice of the on-site news reporter.

He’s seen plenty of gruesome shit in his time as a detective, but this…?

 

“I killed them.”

Hank jolts at the quiet voice in the room. His gaze darts to Connor-- he’s close enough to the couch now to see the android’s face, all stoic and completely calm… aside from his flickering, red LED.

“...The fuck do you mean? You didn’t do…  _ that. _ ”

Connor doesn’t even move his head. His eyes just remain trained on the television screen.

“I led the soldiers to Jericho,” he mumbles. “Thousands of androids were… were  _ slaughtered _ , because of me, Hank.”

Hank opens his mouth as if to protest before hesitantly shooting another glance at the screen.

_ So many bodies. They’re everywhere, they’re in a landfill, so many of them have bullet holes and others are completely torn apart-- _

 

A chill runs up his spine, but he shakes his head and exhales, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. 

“Connor, that wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t found Jericho, you would’ve--”

“Been deactivated,” Connor states, his voice completely and chillingly flat. “I would have been deactivated, but thousands of androids would have  _ survived _ .”

 

Hank doesn’t like where this is going. He’s been down the same path enough times to realize what’s going on.

“Connor, you  _ infiltrated  _ the goddamn Cyberlife Tower and freed thousands of androids. You won the battle by bringing those reinforcements.”

“They wouldn’t have  _ needed _ reinforcements if I had just--” Connor’s tone suddenly sharpens, an abnormal crack in his voice as he grows more and more frustrated. “If I had just gone back to Cyberlife and--!”

Hank’s grip tightens on Connor’s shoulder. “No, no. Don’t you even fucking dare finish that sentence.”

Connor’s brows furrow, his jaw clenching. “Why not? You  _ know _ more androids would be alive if I had just  _ died _ like I was supposed to!”

“Connor, that’s  _ enough. _ TV, off.  _ Now. _ ”

At the sound of his harsh command, the TV screen blinks out, leaving the two in almost complete darkness.

Connor finally looks over at Hank, his face a myriad of unfamiliar emotions. His brows are knitted and every synthetic muscle is tightened, making him look visibly  _ distressed _ \-- almost unheard of for the stoic android, even as a deviant.

“Hank, I didn’t mean to--”

“No, no. Shush.” Hank runs a hand over his face, releasing an agonizingly-slow exhale. “...Connor, I want you to listen to me. Memorize this, stick it wherever you need to in that weird plastic brain of yours for it to stay.”

Hank crouches beside the arm of the couch, giving Connor a pointed stare. “I might not be the best person to say this to you, but damn it, kid, obsessing over the guilt isn’t going to change a damn thing. Pointing fingers at other androids, at humans-- hell, at  _ yourself _ \-- it won’t change what happened.”

His gaze grows a bit distant as he quietly sighs. “It took me a long-ass time to figure that out, Connor. Heck,  _ you’re  _ the one who helped me see it-- to look past my constant blaming and start moving on. You’re the one who constantly encourages me to move on and get out of this shithole I dug for myself, remember?”

Connor’s brows unfurrow just a tiny bit. His frustration seems to be toning down, replaced by a sad look in those brown eyes that remind Hank so much of a dog’s own eyes.

“Hank, Cole-- it wasn’t your fault…”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.” Hank sighs, giving Connor’s shoulder another squeeze. “Either way, I drove myself crazy over the past three years with the ‘what-ifs’, Connor. ‘What if’ we had left the house on time, when we were supposed to head out? ‘What if’ I had taken the other route that day-- slower, but probably safer? ‘What if’ Cole hadn’t died-- if I had died instead?”

 

His gaze focuses once more, shooting Connor an even more pointed look. “Right now, you’re driving yourself crazy with the ‘what-ifs’. It won’t change anything-- even though you’ll probably feel guilty and shitty as hell about it for a long time, you can’t just… let it consume you. Especially not when you’ve finally got emotions and you’re  _ alive _ , and you have a long life ahead of you.”

Connor’s LED slowly cycles from red to yellow, his muscles further relaxing. “...That  _ is _ a bit ironic to hear from you,” he manages softly, a forced attempt at dry humor in his tone. 

It’s not great, per se, but Hank’ll take what he can get.

“Har de har, very funny, laugh at the old alcoholic.” Hank slugs Connor in the shoulder, the force of the impact softened by its good-natured intention. 

Connor softly snorts, doing nothing to stop the punch to his shoulder. And then he finally slumps, shooting Hank a tiny, tired smile. “...Thank you.”

Hank nods before getting to his feet with a loud groan and more than a few cracks of his joints. “No problem. Now if you don’t mind me, I need to get back to bed before I pass out.”

Connor snorts again. His LED slowly slides into a more relaxed, neutral shade of blue. “Yes, go get some rest. Sorry if I woke you up.”

Hank makes a loose, ‘shoo’ing gesture as he yawns. “Mmm… nah, nah. Got thirsty. Now, no more watching the news tonight, got it?” He makes a vague gesture towards a cabinet on the other side of the living room. “Still have my old DVDs and CDs and shit in there, in case you get bored and you don’t feel like powering down or whatever it is you do at night.”

Connor’s gaze softens and he shoots Hank a grateful look. “Got it. Thank you, Hank.”

 

“Mmmmhm.” Hank gives Connor one last squeeze of his shoulder before he finally turns and shuffles back up the hallway towards his room, rubbing at his eyes.


	6. Activation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year ago, he opened his eyes.

_ August 8th, 2038 -- 03:07:12 PM _

 

He’s first greeted by the whirring of machines, the hum of cooling fans, and the voice of a rather bored, irritated Cyberlife employee who was supposed to go home approximately seven minutes ago.

“Alright, last one for today,” the employee grumbles, setting his audio processors to work for the first time. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

_ Audio processors: online. Vocalization systems: online.  _

 

Blink.

The lights are bright in here. He has to manually adjust the opacity of his optical units, as well as lower his brightness sensitivity.

He blinks again.

_ Optical sensory system: optimized for peak performance. _

“ID.”

_ Searching database… _

_ Upload complete. _

“Model RK800, serial number 313-248-317-51,” he chimes.

 

He passes all of the movement tests with flying colors. His peripheral vision, outstanding. The movements of his head and eyes, flawless. He is RK800, a fifth generation prototype, a crime scene investigator, a crime scene negotiator, a coroner, a police officer. He is designed to integrate well into any investigation team, but, perhaps most importantly, he is a  _ hunter _ . He is equipped with high-grade scanning equipment, connected to a worldwide criminal database, and has been endowed with strength and speed surpassing most currently-existing androids.

 

He is a hunter, he is a tool, he is a  _ weapon _ against national security threats.

As he twitches his fingers, his synthetic skin seeping over his porcelain-colored, plastic exterior, the maintenance employee speaks up again.

“RK800, register your name.”

Connor glances towards where the employee is standing, behind the safety of glass, away from the mechanical arms piecing the android together. 

_ Registering name: _? _

 

“Connor.”

 

_ Registering name: Connor_ _

_ Registration complete. _

 

“My name is Connor.”

 

He had been stored away, after that. Kept in a box, his systems powered down so as to conserve energy.

A week later, he had been released from the box.

Later that very night, August 15th, 2038, he had encountered his first deviant and saved a hostage.

 

He had completed his first mission.

 

\---

 

_ August 8th, 2039 -- 06:34:58 PM _

Connor steps out of the automated taxi, sauntering up the driveway he knows all too well. He knows every nook and cranny, knows every sign of wear and tear, notes every crack in the old pavement…

 

_...Is that… glitter? _

Connor blinks, briefly crouching down to scan the tiny, shining pieces freckling a patch of the driveway.

He pauses, unable to come up with an explanation for why there would be glitter anywhere near  _ Hank’s _ house, aka the most stoic, eccentric lieutenant in the city of Detroit. After a moment of contemplation, he gets back up and marches up to the door before tentatively entering--

 

“ _ SURPRISE! _ ”

Connor flinches, his LED flickering yellow with just a  _ hint _ of red in response to Hank jumping out of nowhere, accompanied by a loud, unfamiliar noise. As soon as he realizes it’s Hank, his fight-or-flight response deactivates-- no threat.

A quick scan indicates that the loud noise had been from a ‘party popper’, indicated by the strings of confetti and ribbon on the floor-- and then he blinks as Sumo bounds up after his owner, a proportionately-tiny party hat strapped onto his bulky, fuzzy head.

“Hank? What’s going on?” Connor questions, looking around in bewilderment. 

_...Is that a balloon in the kitchen? _

Hank snorts before approaching Connor and clapping the android on the shoulder. “What does it look like? You’re the prototype detective, aren’tcha?”

 

Connor blinks, scanning the room once more. The pastel-colored balloon, the party poppers, the hat on Sumo…?

“A… birthday party?” He guesses hesitantly, his head tilting ever so slightly. “But Hank, your date of birth is in September.”

Hank snorts. “The party ain’t for me, kid.” And then he smirks, giving Connor a nudge with his elbow. “A certain instruction manual I got last year says your activation day was August 8th, right?”

Connor opens his mouth to respond, but his voice almost cuts out from his own surprise. “...A birthday party for… me?”

“Now you’re gettin’ it.” Hank chuckles before taking Connor by the arm, leading the android into the kitchen. On the table, a store-bought package of cupcakes lies waiting, a lit candle in the shape of a 1 hastily pressed into the middle cupcake.

Hank finally pauses, shooting Connor a sheepish look as the android scans the room. “Haven’t celebrated anyone’s birthday in about four years, so I thought I might, ah… change that. Is, uh. Is it alright with you?”

Connor finishes eyeing the room before looking back at Hank, his lips quirking into a tiny smile.

“I like it. Thank you, Hank”

Hank’s shoulders relax just a bit as he smirks back at the android. “Good-- now c’mon and blow out your candle before the wax melts and gets everywhere.”

Connor blinks before approaching the table, tilting his head curiously as he eyes the tiny, wavering candle flame.

“It’s ah. It’s a human tradition,” Hank explains, moving to stand at Connor’s side. “You’re supposed to make a wish and blow out a candle on your birthday, and then your wish is supposed to come true.” He then shrugs. “It’s more of a superstition thing, but it’s the thought that counts.”

Connor glances at Hank before looking back to the candle. His tiny smile grows just a little bit.

“I wish...” Connor begins, running through his options-- but really, only one is satisfying enough in his mind to qualify as a response. “...I wish for a long life spent with you and Sumo, and to make new friends. To be happy.”

“...Connor, you’re really not supposed to say--”

Hank trails off as Connor blows out the candle. Then he shakes his head and snorts, unable to resist the smile that comes to his face. “You know what, never mind. That’s a damn fine wish, even if it’s sappy as fuck.”

He pats the android on the back, his smile growing as Sumo trots up and gives Connor’s hand a big lick. “Happy first birthday, Connor. Here’s to plenty more in the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying this fic so far! I apologize for the lack of editing in this chapter-- I have to leave for work in about ten minutes but I wanted to post this chapter on my headcanon-birthday for Connor ;P  
> As always, feel free to drop a kudos or a comment if you like what you see in this fic! It really does make my day, seeing new comments, and I'm already blown away by the lovely response I've gotten so far from all of you.   
> Thank you so much for reading-- stay tuned for more <3


	7. Send Me An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor experiences his first movie.

“Hey, Connor.”

Connor blinks at the mention of his name, glancing over at Hank. They’re both perched on the couch, a full 170 pounds of Saint Bernard resting over Connor’s feet. The TV is blaring a rerun of last night’s hockey game, but Hank had all but tuned it out-- the man had been sifting disinterestedly through his emails on his laptop for the past ten minutes or so, while Connor had merely been satisfied with patting Sumo and keeping an eye on the game, despite knowing the results.

Hank continues on even as he folds his laptop up, setting it to the side. “Have you ever seen a movie?”

 

Connor raises a brow, still keeping a hand on Sumo’s back as he muses over Hank’s question. Sure, he recognized certain movie references (he’d had to look up several lines from  _ Top Gun _ and other such movies when conversing with Hank before, as well as looking into  _ Robocop  _ and  _ Wall-E  _ when Hank had taken to occasionally calling him both of those things), and he knew the synopsis for a few movies, but otherwise? 

He shakes his head. “I can’t say I have, no.”

Hank shoots Connor a wry smirk before pushing himself up off the couch, stepping towards a cabinet filled with old DVD cases. “You feel up for changing that?”

Connor’s gaze trails after the man, a tiny ghost of a smile forming in response. “I would like to watch a movie, yes. Which one do you recommend?”

“Hooo.” Hank hums under his breath, skimming through the rows of cases. “So many. You have a lot to catch up on.”

He mumbles to himself as his fingers lightly brush the backs of the cases… and then he pauses on one case, an unreadable expression welling up in the depths of his eyes. Then he side-eyes Connor, glances at the case one more time, and finally pulls the movie out from the shelf. A faint puff of dust rises as it’s pulled out, causing Hank to wrinkle his nose.

“Mmfuck, I need to dust more around here,” he grumbles before moving over to the TV. From Connor’s vantage point, he can just barely make out the cover of the DVD as Hank pops it into the DVD slot, but it’s enough.

 

_ Scanning Internet database… _

_ Scan complete. _

_ Movie: Lilo and Stitch (2002) PG Drama/Fantasy movie, produced by Walt Disney Pictures. The movie has received an average score of 85%-- _

 

“Hey, whoa, no, stop it.”

Connor blinks, interrupting his scans. “Stop what?”

Hank shoots Connor a deadpan look as he steps away from the TV and moves towards the kitchen. “I know when you’re scanning something, kid. Don’t look up the movie, the ratings, the plot, anything like that. When you watch a movie, you ideally go into it with as little idea about the movie as possible-- so you can experience the movie like all of it is a surprise.”

He shrugs, fumbling through a cupboard and pulling out a packet of microwave popcorn. “It’s hard to explain but you’ll see.”

Connor quirks a brow before glancing back down at Sumo and running his hand along the dog’s fur as he waits. He supposes this is yet another human thing he’ll be learning, then, so he refrains from digging up any more information on the movie, even as a few cheery trailers for older Disney movies play on the screen before him. After a couple minutes, Hank plops down on the couch beside Connor, a bowl of popcorn cradled in his arm. He leans back, eyeing the movie’s DVD selection screen with a hint of… trepidation? Connor isn’t sure.

Hank fiddles with the remote and hits play after just a moment of hesitation, sighing as he shifts and makes himself comfortable.

Connor keeps an eye on the man, but eventually his gaze drifts to the TV screen, where an animated spaceship is coming into view.

 

For the next hour and twenty-five minutes, the two sit and watch the movie, with Hank letting out the occasional snort or smirking at certain parts-- otherwise, they remain in silence, and Connor is…  _ enraptured _ , to say the least. Something about the movie strikes him as familiar, something about the emotions it produces-- Connor is tempted to question how an animated, fantasy children’s film about a little human girl and a blue alien can even cause tangible emotions, but he tries to avoid looking into things too deeply, as per Hank and Markus’ recommendations.

 

Either way, it’s fascinating.

 

Eventually, the credits roll and the movie returns to the cheery title screen, blissfully waiting for an option to be selected while upbeat music plays on loop.

 

Connor glances over at Hank, looking as though he were about to say something, when he notes a somber look on the man’s face. Hank is looking straight ahead at the TV screen, but he seems… distant.

“...Hank?”

 

The man blinks before swallowing thickly. Then he glances over at Connor, briefly. He doesn’t make eye contact. “Mmwhat?”

Connor pauses, surveying his options. He already has a feeling about the subject of the lieutenant’s sudden melancholy, and if he’s right, well. He’d best tread carefully.

“You seem… sad,” Connor tentatively points out. The question in his tone hangs in the air, open-ended, but not pressing.

 

Hank sighs through his nose, setting aside the empty bowl of popcorn. He clicks his tongue quietly, does that head tilt Connor is so familiar with-- he’s debating whether or not to share the information with Connor.

Finally, he grunts, rubbing the back of his head. “It was Cole’s favorite movie. Kid made me watch the damn thing with him at least ten times a week.”

 

Hank doesn’t continue.

 

Connor waits a bit before nodding, tilting his head and returning his gaze to the TV screen. “I liked it,” he remarks quietly.

 

There’s a small bridge of silence between the two, but it’s not cold, not distant. No, it feels… warmer.

 

Hank huffs and groans as he gets to his feet, stretching his legs. “...Yeah. I like it, too.”

 

Connor watches as Hank moves back to the kitchen, casually depositing the popcorn bowl in the sink to be taken care of later. Sumo lets out a hefty yawn and stretches out, himself, finally getting up and freeing Connor’s foot from its furry entrapment.

Before Hank goes down the hallway leading to the bathroom, he pauses to glance over at Connor. “You feel like watching some more movies tomorrow night?”

Connor turns his head to look over his shoulder… and then he shoots Hank one of his rare, genuine smiles.

“I believe I would enjoy that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think about it, Lilo and Stitch has a lot of resounding parallels with Connor and Hank in DBH. Just sayin'. ;>  
> As always, feel free to leave a like and/or a comment if you enjoyed! Comments tend to increase my motivation to pump out new chapters.~


	8. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns how to accomplish a new task.

Connor softly inhales, taking in the scent of grass and fields littered with weeds. A crest of wind sweeps across the earth, ruffling the overgrown grasses along with Connor’s hair. It’s peaceful out here, one of his favorite places to roam around.

A tug on his arm reminds him exactly why he’s out here in the first place, however. Connor snorts, shooting the labrador retriever tugging on the other end of the leash an amused look. “Alright, alright, we’ll pick up the pace,” he assures her, not really minding the fact that she can’t exactly understand his words. He walks a bit faster in order to keep up with the dog’s wild sniffing and beelining. “But we’ll need to head back soon. Scout still has to be walked today.”

 

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t heed his words. Connor merely hums and calculates the rest of the path back to the shelter-- just ten more minutes. Then he would check off Roxanne’s name on the wall, take Scout out for half an hour, and then he would head home for the day. It was simple work, but he enjoyed it; the dogs were always so happy to see him, and even happier to see the leash in his hands. It never failed to make him feel better, no matter how rough his day had been.

 

He hears it before he sees it, the thing that will wrench his carefully-planned schedule out of his hands and turn it on its head.

 

Or, more specifically, the  _ two _ things.

 

Connor blinks in confusion as a high-pitched, soft cry registers in his audio processors. Roxanne perks up and immediately weaves towards the source of the unfamiliar noise, her nose pressed to the ground. 

He keeps a steady grip on the dog’s leash as he follows alongside her, only stopping (and preventing Roxanne from moving forward any further) when his eyes settle on a cardboard box before them, nestled in the tall grass.

 

Sure enough, the plaintive crying resumes, far more distinguishable in close proximity.

Connor leans forward hesitantly, his LED flickering yellow, before peering into the box. His gaze is met with the sight of two of the tiniest kittens he’s ever seen, all nestled in a nest of ragged towels-- they can’t be any older than a week, and, judging from their desperate cries, they’re hungry, cold, scared… or all of the above.

Connor doesn’t even think about it a second longer. In mere moments, he’s gently lifting up the box in one arm, keeping a steady hand on Roxanne in order to keep her prying nose out of the box. He shoots the dog an apologetic look.

“Sorry, change of plans. We’ll have to cut our walk a little short today.”

She stares at him curiously, still attempting to smell the bottom of the box. Then she wags her tail, her tongue lolling out of her mouth cluelessly.

Good girl.

With that, he marches back towards the shelter at a brisk pace, keeping his upper body as steady as possible in order to not jostle the kittens inside around.

 

Alexis is filing paperwork when the door’s little brass bell chimes. Upon seeing Connor, she nearly grumbles and goes back to ignoring him… but the box he’s cradling in his arm catches her attention. She immediately gets to her feet, a scowl on her face in an instant. “Ah fuck, not again…”

“I found them out in the field,” Connor explains as she marches forward, her brows knitted together. “I believe someone deliberately left them out there, but I don’t know why they wouldn’t have just--”

“Shut it, tin can,” Alexis grumbles. She slides the box out of Connor’s grip and holds it in both arms, her gaze only softening as she peers in at the kittens. “Fuckin’ hell, not again…”

Connor frowns, ignoring the tiny stab of disappointment in his chest as the kittens are removed from his (unofficial) custody. “This happens often?”

Alexis huffs, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah, unfortunately. Some people don’t want to-- or can’t-- pay the fee to drop off cats or dogs here, so they leave them out in the field. Unfortunately, the shelter is tight on funds as is… ugh.”

She sighs before turning on her heel and marching past the reception desk, into the main area. “No use worrying about it now. You, take Roxie back to her kennel.”

Alexis bites her lip, a hint of irritation crossing her face. “After that, though, I need you to come help me with the kittens. Can’t just leave the front desk unattended.”

 

Connor blinks.

Alexis had never explicitly asked for his help before.

Before he has too much time to read into it, she shoos him off towards the dog kennels. “Go on, get a move-on!” she snaps.

Connor doesn’t waste any more time after that, quickly leading Roxanne to her kennel (while also bemusedly noting that he can easily see Hank and Alexis being old friends). Once he’s gotten her all set up in her kennel and tossed the dog her favorite rope toy, he steadily marches back to the main room of the shelter. A microwave beeps from the staff room-- more of a closet, really-- and Alexis walks out moments later, two bottles of milky formula in her hands and multiple old towels and blankets draped over her arms. She gestures for him to follow her back up front to the reception desk, where the cardboard box is perched on the slightly-slanted, worn surface. Alexis shoves a bottle into Connor’s hands, along with a towel, before turning back to the box and reaching inside. The calico kitten she scoops up lets out a loud, protesting cry, but she adjusts the kitten-- cradling it in one arm, preparing the bottle with the other.

“You know how to bottle-feed a kitten?” Alexis questions gruffly, only briefly glancing up at Connor with a slightly wary look on her face. 

Connor shakes his head, his brows knitting. “No, I’ve never done it before.”

“Mm.” Alexis huffs before nodding towards the box. “Take out the other one and hold it like this.” She then nods at how she’s currently holding the kitten-- holding it steady and upright with one hand, the bottle held firmly in her other hand.

Connor approaches the box and tentatively picks up the other kitten-- he almost flinches as it cries and squirms against his fingers, it’s so  _ tiny _ and fragile, and for a brief second, a flicker of panic runs through his systems-- but he steadies himself, taking a soft inhale and mirroring Alexis’ stance, how she holds the kitten.

She eyes him carefully before nodding. It’ll do.

Then she tips the bottle upside-down over the towel on her arm, making sure that a few drops come out before she readjusts it to a forty-five degree angle and gently wiggles it against the kitten’s mouth. It takes very little prodding for the kitten to begin to suckle, its plaintive cries dying down as its mouth fills with warm, tantalizing formula.

Connor watches closely before copying her movements-- a few drops splash out from the tip of the bottle he’s holding, and he mirrors the forty-five degree angle perfectly. Then he looks down at the little charcoal-furred kitten, watches as it blindly squirms and squeaks in his hold. 

 

_ Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You’re not going to hurt it. _

 

Connor tentatively brushes the tip of the bottle to the kitten’s mouth, but much to his dismay, it moves its little head away from the bottle. He tries again, getting the same result once more.

 

“Pff, looks like you got the stubborn little bugger of the pair.”

Connor looks up, blinking at Alexis rather helplessly. “Why isn’t it eating?”

She shrugs before nodding to his kitten. “Try coaxing it a little. Rub your thumb along its forehead and back.”

“Alright,” he mumbles quietly, returning his gaze to the kitten. It’s still squirming about, but its cries are quieting just a bit. He tentatively brushes his finger along the kitten’s forehead, his touch feather-light.

“Little harder than that. Cats have rough tongues-- be gentle, but the cat ain’t gonna break on ya, kid.”

Connor’s brows furrow. He adjusts his touch to be just a  _ little _ more firm as he brushes the kitten’s forehead. Much to his surprise, after a few strokes, the kitten’s squirming calms down substantially. For good measure, he strokes along its back-- he startles a bit as the kitten squeaks, but with no reprimands from Alexis and the slowing of the kitten’s squirming, he believes he might just be doing something right.

Then he readjusts the bottle once more, brushing it against the kitten’s mouth, waiting with bated breath, and--

 

\--The kitten begins to suckle.

Connor’s shoulders droop, tension that he hadn’t even noticed building up gradually seeping out of his synthetic muscles. He watches, fascinated now, as the tiny creature greedily sucks at the bottle, the formula within dribbling down the kitten’s fuzzy chin.

 

Finally, a smile graces his face. A sense of warmth is quickly spreading through his chest at the sight-- it hadn’t been a complex task at all, but there’s something so… rewarding, about seeing the kitten nurse. He had  _ helped _ it nurse, and he hadn’t screwed up in the process, hadn’t hurt the little thing.

 

He’d helped  _ save _ the kitten. Saved both of them, in fact.

His gaze shifts to Alexis, a proud, exceedingly-rare grin on his face-- and he almost starts, noting a ghost of a smile on her lips. It quickly vanishes as he meets her eyes, but for that brief instance… she had been  _ smiling _ at him.

Connor resumes his focus on the kitten snuggled in the towel on his arm, a sense of contentment and pride drifting through his head.

 

That was the first time she had ever smiled at him-- the first time she had shown any positive signs of approval towards him, really.

It makes him feel... a lot better. Perhaps she would warm up to him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geeeeez, I have a Thing(tm) for having cats in my fics. I can't help it, the idea was too pure.  
> This scene was actually inspired in part by real life-- forever and a day ago, I was a volunteer at an animal shelter, and one of the best days of my life was when we got to bottlefeed these week-old kittens.
> 
> Of course, I ended up with the most stubborn kitten of the bunch, but I managed to get him fed. Good times.~


End file.
